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I think those old priests who dwelt on Glastonbury had the right idea. e bed and washed out Priscilla's mouth with a cooling lotion, so that even though she did not drink, her mouth would not torment her so with dryness. She knew that if she reached out to take Excalibur from his hand, he would sense her intent, would wake-and he would kill her; she had no illusions about that. Let me go, Meleagrant! My father claims you are not his son, and how can I say anything else? I never knew yo

And then resentment surged through her: This should now be Morgaine's task, it is she who was to be Lady after me in Avalon. But I must not keep the High King waiting. Can I send to the kitchens, if this is not to your liking? A slice of ham? Some better wine than this? Morgaine shook her head and put a piece of bread into her mouth. Their eyes met for a moment, then he said gently, Would you take her home then? Be it as you will, mother.